


Bad influence

by Howling_Harpy



Series: Eyes of the beholder [3]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Abusive Parents, Dinner Party, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Issues, Friendship, Gen, Meeting the Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26053090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howling_Harpy/pseuds/Howling_Harpy
Summary: Stanhope Nixon hasn't decided what he thinks of his son's friends, but what he has already decided is that he doesn't like the smirk on his son's face.
Series: Eyes of the beholder [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890967
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Bad influence

**Author's Note:**

> Can we all agree that Lewis comes from a shitty home, yes? This is about that.
> 
> Is this winnix or not? Well, is it?

Stanhope Nixon didn’t believe in loving children. Not in general and not his own, as being productive had never in his opinion demanded any sort of emotional investment. 

Doris did love their children, but Stanhope didn’t think it had had any effect on either one. Blanche was chipper and just fine, clever in social situation and also knew when to make herself scarce, and Lewis… Well, Lewis was smart. He was too talkative, lazy, sloppy and weak-willed, but not even Stanhope’s own father had been able to honestly call him stupid. 

So Lewis was useful, maybe even worthy of being called a Nixon, but he had a tendency to use his intellect to come up with childish pranks, which was why Stanhope found himself entertaining his son’s… friends.

Stanhope didn’t care for patriotism and didn’t buy the theatrics that went with the army, but war was bad for business and at least the army got things done. He had also hoped that military service would help Lewis to grow a spine, but now that he was inspecting the results of his investment, he wasn’t sure.

Lewis had called it a social dinner with a touch of business when he had brought up the idea of bringing his two “war buddies” for dinner, and Stanhope had bought it. Winters at least seemed to be there for legitimate business, but even though Stanhope appreciated a man who had climbed the ladder so fast, the man himself was as dry as paper. 

The main dining room in the Nixon estate was a grand thing with Turkish rugs on the floor, oak furniture, and silk cushions. The four of them sat around a too large table in a way that Stanhope liked, and ahead of them was the painful endeavour of a three-course meal together. The problem was that they hadn’t received even the first dish yet, only their drinks, and Stanhope already knew he didn’t care for either of his guests, and right next to him sat Lewis with a whiskey glass in hand and a smirk on his face that told Stanhope that things were going exactly like he had planned. 

But Stanhope would have rather died than admitted that Lewis had gotten one over him, so he chose the route of powering through it.

“And what do you do?” he asked the blond, curly-haired officer Welsh who wore a tense smile but matched Lewis in the drinking pace.

“I’m a husband and a father,” Welsh answered proudly, the typical Irishman, “but I work in the public school system of Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania.”

“Ah. A secure position, I take it,” Stanhope replied. No ambition there either he noted and took a drink.

“Harry’s going to make all those kids fall in line,” Lewis said in his bragging tone, “if he gives up his own habit of getting in fights first, that is.” He threw a boyish glance at his friend who grinned back, and Stanhope simply huffed and didn’t grace the matter with a response. 

“Not that he wasn’t a great officer, right Harry?” Lewis continued, unprompted. “Remember that assault over that field in France? Everyone else took off, but Easy stood and fought.”

The grin on the Irishman’s face turned timid and tightened a bit, but Lewis either didn’t notice or he didn’t care. “Right, Harry?” he pressed.

“Right,” his friend dutifully agreed, tilted his glass back and drank his whiskey to the bottom. 

“And where were you at this point?” Stanhope asked Lewis. It was always satisfying to watch that childish smirk fade when Lewis fell back in line. Better yet, he didn’t seem to want to answer, and Stanhope got to train that weak spine of his. “Well?” he demanded.

When he heard that word Lewis bowed his head in the same way he had done since he was a boy. “I was with the battalion command behind the line, updating the situation for the company commanders,” he said like the answer was a tooth that had to be pulled. 

“Of course you were,” Stanhope agreed neutrally, “you shouldn’t talk so grandly about what others have done when you had no part in it. I bet you didn’t even fire your weapon.”

Lewis pushed his jaw forward and threw a pitifully angry look at Stanhope from under his brows. It was a familiar look, one that hadn’t changed since Lewis had learned to speak and talk back at his parents.

“It was an important job, dad,” Lewis muttered with his lips pursed like he wanted to keep them from wobbling. 

“Sure, Lewis,” Stanhope said coldly, ending the embarrassing bragging his son was so prone to in company. 

“Of course it was. You were irreplaceable, Lewis,” said Winters, speaking up for the first time with a voice as confident and stern as always. It was like the man didn’t know what self-doubt was, and Lewis turned towards it like a moth to a flame. 

Stanhope huffed impatiently. “If you say so.”

“I do,” came the reply without hesitation.

Stanhope hadn’t decided yet what he thought of Winters. If the man had just been one of his workers he would have appreciated and valued him, but that wasn’t the end of it. Winters wasn’t just a good worker, he was Lewis’ friend, one he bragged about so much that Blanche and Doris had known the man by first name before he even set a foot back on American soil, so good that Lewis had dragged him back with him from the army.

Lewis hadn’t ever had anyone like that, Stanhope was sure of it, and it was that what kept the jury out on him. Winters was an efficient, hard-working and confident man, and those were all qualities that Stanhope wished Lewis would have picked up in the army, but instead he had sought out another man who had them and brought him home instead. 

Stanhope poured himself another glass of whiskey, then passed the bottle to Lewis, who accepted. Winters watched the glass be filled, and Lewis avoided his gaze as he did so.

Stanhope had a disdain for Richard Winters, he acknowledged that much. The man was an asset, but there was something about him he didn’t like. He held his chin too high and met his gaze too easily, but also Lewis liked him too much. Stanhope couldn’t form his own opinion of the man, because Lewis had been the one to discover him, to know him and make the introductions, which meant that in their game Winters was one of Lewis’ pieces, and never Stanhope’s. 

Stanhope also didn’t hold any illusions that he actually held any sort of command over Winters, no. The man had loyalty, but it all resided with Lewis, not the Nixons in general. To Winters, there was just Lewis, and Stanhope could tell that the man would drop every commitment he had made here the moment he wanted to and leave without looking back.

That might have been good, actually, but from the way Winters turned to Lewis and smiled at him without any of the previous assertiveness or force Stanhope could see that he would take Lewis with him. The thought struck him suddenly and he nearly squeezed the crystal glass into shards in his hand. He had been approaching that thought for weeks now, but only now it fully solidified. 

Winters gave Lewis a smile and eyed his glass. “Do you really need all that, Lewis?” he asked softly, addressing Lewis like no one else present mattered.

The remains of the childish frown on Lewis’ face dissolved and his squared shoulders relaxed. He seemed to think it over, then gave a dismissive bark of a laugh and put his glass back on the table. Winters rewarded him with an approving smile, and Welsh reached over to steal the glass for himself with a grin on his face, and Lewis allowed him.

For a moment the three young men had forgotten their host completely, and Stanhope took a disgusted look at the adoring expression on Lewis’ face when he looked back at Winters. Just before the entrée salad, Stanhope decided that he loathed Richard Winters.


End file.
